Shamanic Interludes
by Lellian
Summary: A collection of one shots across the fandom and hopefully with all characters. Chapter 2: Meene knows best, the X-laws say...
1. Watercolours

Digging through my hard-disk, I found a fair number of Shaman King, completely different in length, content and pairings and I thought it would be nice to present them in a group so I'll be updating this sporadically as I either find ones that I've already written or write new ones. First up, Horo-Horo and Tamao!

Title: Watercolours

Author: The Summer Stars

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Episode Fifty – I have a darkness in my heart.

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Blue definitely is my favourite colour.

I've decided this after long consideration and contemplation during the strenuous exercise of threading my fingers through hair of that colour. Carefully, I brush one particularly errant strand off of creamy skin, unable to resist a smile as I feel the silken quality against my skin.

Trust him to be the lucky one. In the biting cold he swathes himself in, his skin remains liquid smooth, his hair retaining its glossy sheen. If I put the elemental pressures he puts to play on himself to my feeble body, there would be no doubt that my hair would turn as brittle as straw, my skin reddened and chapped from the nipping winds.

I always have preferred Spring over Winter: apart from the serene stillness the world gains when snow hides its imperfections, the rain, the mud and the chilling cold of the dark season is enough to send me scuttling back into my room, resolving to hibernate until green returns to carpet the earth. Winter brings sleep, everything entering a dormant state, but Spring blesses us with rejuvenation, the wakening of the dead and the rebirth of life.

My, I seem particularly poetic today and the Sun is barely up yet.

Smiling at my own folly, I return to the business at hand, exploring the essence of softness delicately with the tips of my fingers, not wishing to wake the slumbering youth. Not that the fact he adores the Winter season deters me. You can't have Spring without Winter to renew the energy drained by the long passage of the year.

If Spring is my element, then Winter is surely his and that pleases me to no end. The idea that the Spring in me cannot occur without the Winter in him has long since been a comfort me.

Yet it is odd that, with his specialised talents to freeze all that he touches, when he touches _me_, his skin is heated. Warm. Certainly not frigid, his caress is far from what you would expect considering the ice he can form from the very same fingertips which march teasingly across my skin.

But heated or frozen, his touch still makes me shiver.

A shift in motion draws me away from my thoughts on his powers over ice and over me. Looking down, I see his head has reversed positions, twisting on its axis to now face the other way. Of course, this now leaves me a new side of tousled hair to smooth down, the newly neatened side now undoubtedly being ruffled against my own chest.

He always has been possessive, a fact proved even in his sleep. Cheek pressed against my collar bone, his arm rests across my stomach, curling around to lightly brush my waist. As per normal, our legs are tangled together, leaving me unsure of where I end and he begins.

Fingers still playing idly with those wonderfully azure strands, never growing tired of their texture, their colour. Such a deep colour, I could readily become intoxicated by such a shade, as I become heady upon his features, his voice, his kisses…

Yes, blue is certainly my favourite colour.

But it wasn't always the case. It hasn't been long since another hue was the one which held me spellbound. Nothing could render me speechless like a pair of liquid brown eyes or hair of the same colour. Polished mahogany, such a warm colour had power over me and I had long since been drawn towards one who was the image of such a hue.

Sienna was, for me, the epitome of life itself. In nature, the colour is prominent; in plants, animals and even the rich earth itself is vibrant in, well, its brownness. The colour drew me to it and as such my poor eyes were unable to see the blue which hovered right under my nose.

But time corrected my ignorance and it soon became clear that blue was just as important in life as brown. It might not be as prominent, rarer, but all the more precious for its scarcity. How many true blue flowers do you see? Their beauty is made more by the fact there are fewer of them. Value added if you want to be clinical about it.

I still like brown. I just prefer blue now.

Spring over Winter, blue over brown – must be morning after syndrome. But talk about the night before…

It's still at the stage where it's awkward, fumbling, too close to the first time for it to be smooth. We're still getting to know each other physically, not that it makes what we share any more special. He'll crack some innuendo laced joke and I'll smile accordingly, but then there's a moment of unease, nervousness.

Like he has something to prove before our lips bump together clumsily, like moths batting softly into a light bulb. Drawn to it inexorably.

But, looking down at the sleeping man who is resting so peacefully on me, I know that his face has lost all the tension it holds during the day. No, not tension, his mask. Looking at this different side of him, it's a real insight into what makes my Shaman the way he is.

My Shaman. That's nice to say, isn't it? I suppose I can be as possessive as he is, I just don't show it. What you do and don't show – that's what makes a person, at least to the outside world.

And what does my Shaman show to the world? Isn't obvious? You can tell by that grin, that I'm-perfect-and-I-know-it smile he flashes at the world so often. His seeming arrogance which can rival that of Ren's and inane humour. The teasing, that plays a part as well, but what rules it all is his pride. His pride as a Shaman, his pride as an Ainu, his pride as a person.

But that's it, he isn't proud as a person. He _isn't _perfect or at least he doesn't think so. Inside, I can see it, he's wracked with insecurity. I didn't have suspicions, not until that fateful day when Nyorai supposedly 'enlightened' him to the darkness in his heart.

There is no darkness in him, that I know for sure, with all that I have in me. There is no hate or true resentment, there is only insecurity. It's unfounded, I've never been able to understand how he can even think that he is in anyway unsatisfactory. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, we all have those human faults, but he didn't have anymore than anyone else.

But he thought he did…in his own mind, being compared to those around him, wonderful people, but I think his main worry that he wasn't living up to the example that was Yoh. I think he feels about Yoh the way I do about Anna. They're both…_perfect. _To him, Yoh is his conqueror, the one who succeeded where he failed.

The fact that what I feel, felt for Yoh was there, that probably added to these feelings. To think that he might be feeling second best in my eyes, that causes me more anguish than you can know. I love my Shaman first and foremost, how can I let him know that?

But sleep takes that façade away and I can see his soul come to the surface, his face relaxed and peaceful.

Letting my hands leave his hair, I run the pad of my index finger down the side of his cheek, feeling the slight prick that indicated he needed to shave. Smiling to myself, I continue to explore his face with my fingertips, trying to _feel _what I normally see.

Tracing the arch of his nose before feeling the softness at the tip where cartilage ends, I feel him begin to stir and I pause, not wanting to wake him. It was a busy day yesterday and my Shaman needs his sleep.

Seeing him like this, it makes me realise how vulnerable he is. Still strong, but baring his weak spot, holding me tightly in his arms like I'm a tie to this world. I know I'm privileged, to be able to see him like this, to see a side of him he shows to no one else.

Here, he isn't HoroHoro, Ainu warrior, perfection in human form.

Here, he's my Shaman, a man with impossibly blue hair and a touch that can make me melt. Here, I hope he doesn't feel the need to have pretences, that he doesn't bring up his shields and block me out. It's still so new to be doing this, to be this close, bodies wrapped around each other as we sleep, breath warming the other's cheek in a silent gesture of _yes, I am here, you are safe._

Once again I am pulled back to reality as I feel the arm across my stomach flex minutely, his fingers brushing over the rise of my hip and I squirm. Each encounter with him leaves my skin tingling with raw nerve endings and any movement is doubly sensitised. Seeing a smug smile flicker over his lips, I know that he's awake and trying to fool me.

Brushing my own fingers in a touch across that smiling mouth, I'm rewarded with a sliver of blue appearing in his face as he looks up towards me amusedly.

"Good morning," he says huskily, catching my hand and pressing it to his lips, skin dry on my own. Before he sits up, removing himself from my chest.

As discreetly as I can, I shift the coverlet on his bed upwards to cover the area where his torso had been, knowing that a predictable pink flush will be covering my cheeks. I suppose we may have our intimate moments, but it's all too new for me to be completely comfortable with our nakedness, particularly my own lack of clothes.

A knowing smile being his answer, he pushes some strand of hair off of my face, mirroring the actions I had performed on him earlier. "I love it when you do that…" he murmurs sleepily, "It's the same colour as your hair."

Of course, with such a sweet comment, I blush harder and he chuckles, flopping back down on the pillows with some difficulty. Since, at times, Anna seems to regard the both of us with a measure of contempt, neither of our rooms are particularly large or spacious, meaning that both of our beds are single and relatively small.

Edging over as much as I can to give him some space in the cramped bed, I let out a yelp when his strong arm encircles my waist and literally pulls me down onto his chest. My yelp subsides into embarrassed giggles, his own chuckles adding to the noise that breaks the early morning silence.

Soon, I'll be leaving his room as quietly as I came, hopefully avoiding any of the Inn's early risers by being the early bird. Not that there haven't been incidents. Hearing Horo try to explain to Ryu why he was outside of my room at three in the morning while I stood on the other side of the door with my heart pounding was hardly fun, though the adorable idiot did believe that yes, Horo had been sleepwalking. Then there was the time I'd run into Manta walking back from Horo's room. Suffice to say, the little man hadn't fallen for my ramblings and is one of the few people privy to our relationship.

Relationship. Just the word sounds scary. People break off relationships, people aren't ready for relationships – relationships never seem to work. I don't know how to put what my Shaman and I have together into context. I don't know if we're in love, whether we have 'feelings' for each other or whether we just happen to be sleeping together. I only know one thing. We are friends and we always will be. Well, fingers crossed at least – according to most people, sex really ruins a friendship.

I'm not so sure about that though – taking that one step that crosses between friendly and more-than-friendly hasn't changed much. During the day we're still together as we always are - we take our tongue lashings from Anna together, we eat together, well, I cook for him and he hoovers it up gratefully. What we had, _have_ is special enough I hope that what we do when night hides us doesn't spoil it.

It makes it stronger.

Shifting until I'm comfortably pressed up to his lean chest, I let my eyes close halfway, watching my hand resting on his breastbone. Still watching, my fingers move down his torso, trying to get to know the warm skin on which I'm resting, trying to imprint every freckle, every dip, every single one of the scars that are testament to his prowess in battle.

_My Shaman…_

I look up to see a lazy grin on his face as I run my hand over a long line across his hip bone, probably a souvenir from an encounter with the wrong end of Ren's Kwan Dao, feeling ridged skin under my touch.

"Like what you see?" he asks teasingly, already knowing my far too reliable response. I blush at being caught admiring his body so openly, but a part of me sees this as a chance to reassure him on a personal level.

"Maybe..." I say softly, eager to get back to running my hands over his lean muscles. The months of training his sister puts him through hardly make him undesirable to look at.

But he's mine, remember? My Shaman!

"Just maybe?" he asks, that half outraged, half amused tone like music to my blissful ears. "You know I'm handsome, admit it."

"No, you're not handsome," I say softly and I watch as his eyes cloud with confusion, his jaw setting awkwardly. From the sudden slackness in the arm he has wrapped around my waist, I know that I've hurt him – I don't mean it like that! See – I'll make things better. "Handsome is boring." More confusion and I can't help, but smile slightly as self-acting fingertips trace the side of his face again. "Yoh is handsome, you…you are perfect."

I thought I'd done wrong mentioning Yoh and I wince, eyes closing momentarily. Foolish me, it just gives him another chance to surprise me. Unpredictable, that's my Shaman. With a swift movement, I find myself twisted, now pinned under the grip of strong hands. My arms now over my head, I squirm slightly, half-heartedly. If I had my choice, I'd stay here forever, our bodies pressed flush together like this. Because, as soon as one of us ventures outside that door, he stops being my Shaman and he becomes Horo once more. It's only here, in this moment that we are ever truly open with each other.

As cornflower eyes meet my own oddly hued ones, I shiver at the emotion I see in them. I've obviously done something right for once since he moves suddenly, hot lips finding their way to the curve of my neck. I gasp and you would to if you had felt the sparks which were sent wildly down the exposed layer of my skin, sizzling down to a deeper, untouched layer within me. Involuntarily, my eyes slip closed and it's all I can do to grip onto his lean shoulders with my own trembling hands. We may not have been physically close long, but experience at having to cheer me up on my dark days had blessed him with a knowledge of exactly where I'm sensitive. Except…before he used to tickle me there.

Now he kisses me and the change is startling, my stomach long since having fallen through space with that initial surprise. When I first met him, there was no one who was less successful with girls than him. He was brash and loudmouthed – not that that has changed – but he had his sweeter side. In the days when I was infatuated with a pair of smiling brown eyes, it was his awkward blue ones that would prompt me to shed tears on his jacket-covered shoulder.

We're older now – not much, but still enough to let us touch each other this way, even if I'm not sure how long it will last.

Is forever too much to ask? Actually, forget that – what have I done to deserve forever with him?

Quick footsteps outside his room cause us to freeze, previously relaxed muscles suddenly tensing up as we put into play our senses, desperately hoping that whomever it is outside will move on. Against our wishes, the footsteps halt and are then joined by another pair and inaudible voices penetrate the door of Horo's room. Our eyes meet and I sense regret and longing mixed with a heady blend of annoyance in those sea deep eyes as my Shaman sighs, sliding off me in search of some clothes.

Is love feeling an ache of loneliness when he takes his comforting touch away from me?

The voices outside increase in volume and as I watch Horo pull on some pants, I realize who they are – it's awfully early for Yoh to be up, though Ren normally rises at some early hour, about the same time as me actually. I must have been tired – by now, I should have had the morning meal prepared. I wince as I hear mentions of Horo and somehow I know what's coming next – you don't need to be a prophetess to know that we're about to get a nasty interruption.

There are times I wish my premonitions would be wrong…

"Hey Horo! You're late for training. You said you were going to…." Why does it have to be Yoh who enters first? Why? He falls silent, those beautiful mahogany eyes falling on me as I cringe on the bed, pulling the blanket up to my neck again before they turn to Horo who's looking belligerent. Some small voice inside of me sighs in exasperation, but a bigger voice is currently more focused on the fact that I'm naked. In front of Yoh. In his friend's bed – my friend's bed! Except that we're just supposed to be platonic friends.

Eeep…

"I swear to God, Ainu, if you don't hurry up…" Oh isn't that peachy – Ren comes in to join the party and the same silence that Yoh is holding falls upon him as well, not that Ren holds it very long. "So you're sleeping with the servants now, baka?"

I'm not surprised when Horo growls and lunges towards Ren, the shorter boy batting him away easily, but I can't help the blush that spreads across my cheeks. Vaguely, I can hear the two bickering, baiting one another, but my eyes are fixed on Yoh and suddenly I can feel the rush of blood in my chest, the rise and fall of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Corporeal reality fades – all that's left is him and I and I'm the one burning with shame. It's hard to explain, but somehow, it's as if I feel guilty for being found like this. With Horo.

Which is ridiculous, absurdly so. Even in this little, isolated world of mine where it's just the two of us, there's nothing but gentle compassion in those liquid pools of melted mocha. Nothing. There's nothing there and part of me has always known this – the part of me that hasn't changed in all these years and still has a shred of wild, irrational hope.

That small, bittersweet part of my heart breaks there and then when I realize that it's satisfaction I can see in Yoh's eyes. He's _happy _that he's found me with Horo.

_Horo…_

With a guilty conscience, I jerk out of this painful reality I was sinking into, looking with flushed cheeks towards the person I…I…what? What do I feel for this blue haired Shaman? What would I find if I cleared through all the confusion and clouding within my disorientated heart?

The room has turned quiet, a deathly hush echoing louder than anything anyone could yell as I find my eyes meeting puzzled sapphire ones. His bickering with Ren having ended, the confusion and evident pain obvious before those starry irises darken defensively to a slate grey and I know I've done the unforgivable. To have been caught staring at his proverbial rival in the moment we were supposed to be proving that we were together was enough to make his tense mask slide with perfect practice into place. Something in my chest aches and I hide trembling hands in the folds of the bedspread that is my only covering, my world once more narrowing to a single person and this time it isn't Yoh that my soul revolved around.

"What's going on here?" Despite my own deranged world having a 'Private' sign hanging on its door, there is one person in the world who has the key to all entrances. With the entrance of the icy looking Itako, everyone snaps to attention, which in my case means I wince at my decided nakedness and hope she doesn't notice.

Anna notices everything.

Of course, considering the crowd already in my room, it was inevitable that people would have heard the insults Horo and Ren had been throwing at each other. Not only has the blonde Shaman Queen entered the room, but Pirika, Manta and Chocolove are following in her footsteps. Horo's sister looks shocked (can you blame her) and her questions ring unanswered through the air. Manta on the other hand merely looks embarrassed, but hardly shocked – my friend has long since known about _us_. At least he doesn't have to pretend anymore. And, of course, this cozy scene wouldn't be complete without our resident comedian making some sort of oddball joke, but I don't even hear it – it's Anna I'm more worried about…

Seriously, the temperature in this room drops about ten degrees – you can almost see the glacial look in her eyes bringing this room down to sub zero temperatures. I expect a cutting remark, something pointed about what we've clearly been doing or irritation at being lied to. Instead, Anna surprises me.

"I'm not paying any of you to waste your time hanging around jabbering," she says tartly and in that moment, I love Anna, simply because she didn't subject me to the shame of her tongue-lashing. Once again, it's Chocolove who opens his mouth and comments that Anna isn't actually paying them at all.

Eye flash and I know he's in trouble.

As the other's troop out, accompanied by the wails of our in-house comedian as he receives a trouncing from Anna, I look tentatively towards the one person who's still in the room and perhaps the one person I owe the most to.

"Well…that was interesting," he finally says, not looking at me as he searches around for a shirt, skin gleaming with a pearlescent shimmer in the early morning light. However small his room might be, facing eastwards gives it the most magnificent sunrises, despite the weather being murky. It's still that hazy stage between winter and spring where the earth hasn't quite made up her mind about what season she's going to.

Remembering my musings of the earlier hours, I smile slightly and receive a quizzical look from Horo in return as he pulls on a rumpled shirt from the night before (how it ended up on the windowsill, I don't know…)

"Did you mind?" I look up, confused as I meet those cornflower eyes of his and I realise that, once more, he has let his guard down, trusting me with his inner fears and that warms me more than a thankful glance from Yoh's eyes ever can. Still, I'm not quite sure what he's getting at and I frown slightly, looking questioningly at him. "Yoh." The answer is clipped and worried, tense hands fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt as he attempts to do it up. "Did you mind him seeing us…you know…?" Obviously, he's embarrassed and his hand twitches, sending the small button tinkling cheerfully along the floor to rest between us, both of us watching it with an awkward intensity.

We're so alike really…

Suddenly, I smile, stretching down out of the bed to pick up the tiny, plastic round, twirling it between two fingers as I look back up at him. "No," I say softly, fingertips tracking the curved ridge running around the edge of the button, the four minute holes I'd need in a few minutes if I had my way. "I don't mind. Did you?"

A wry grin graces his features. "I didn't like Ren seeing you naked."

In the chuckles that follow, I know that everything's alright again, that we're still here, we're still strong and we're still together.

Once I've convinced him to take off the shirt again and I've dug out my sewing kit, I can still feel his eyes on me as I occupy myself with re-attaching the button to the garment. Somehow, I _still _haven't gotten around to putting some clothes on and somehow, I don't seem to mind. It's Horo I'm with, so it has to be alright and judging by the heated glances I can _feel _him sending me, he thinks that it's alright as well. There's a sort of peaceful domesticity in the room as we sit here quietly; me sewing and him watching me. There'll be questions of course, a barrage of them as soon as we leave that door, but for now, we're safe in our frame.

My Shaman – I'll never let him go.

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	2. Sacrifice

Warnings: Some vague spoilers for episodes within the Star Sanctuary, but they're fairly obscure.

All I can say is that this piece probably won't be as well received as the first one since this is a less popular branch of characters. Meene has always intrigued me (I adore her to bits) and the general fanaticism of the X-laws is a topic of great interest for me. This piece was inspired by the flashbacks that Porf, Denbat and Larch have when they meet the end, pictures of a time where they were all relaxing together as the friends that they were. They were very brief freeze-frames, but they touched me…and the result was this!

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Some people called them fanatics; pious, empty shells driven by a desire for petty revenge on one who had wronged them in the past. Others called them saviours, blessed with heavenly light and divine right as they walked the earth on angel-winged feet. Some even called them tortured souls, labelling them as a group of broken spirited sheep led by a slip of a girl, a silver haired shepherdess. Everyone had their own opinions on the X-laws and the members themselves did nothing to deny or confirm these theories.

But beneath all those speculations, the truth was that, first and foremost, the X-laws were friends…

Their guardian spirits may have been angels, the highest beings in heaven, but it didn't make the six men and one woman who commanded them any less mortal than their fellow shaman despite the omnipotent exterior they seemed to project to the world. What went on behind the closed doors that hid them from view was far different to the single-minded unity and determination they showed to outsiders. The sound of the merry laughter echoing off the stacked pine walls was not something one associated with the X-laws, not at all. To most, anything, _but _stiff-necked resilience was unfeasible.

Still, out of the public eye, everyone changes…

"Nisi Dominus Frustra!" was the jubilant toast that rang around the high rafters, accompanied by the resounding clink of glasses being touched to each other in a victory salute. Nisi Dominus Frustra. _Without the Lord, we labour in vain. _ Hardly a standard toast for a gathering of people, but the X-laws were hardly standard and success always seemed to be best expressed in Latin (at least in their Italian sub-commander's eyes anyway…) With God's help and with God's love, they had progressed another inch towards their ultimate and final objective. Another mission, this one in the icy wastelands of Russia in the dark days of late winter, had been successful and another goal had been reached.

So, warmed by the roaring log fire burning happily in the grate while iron sleet and nipping snow lashed the wooden outer walls of the isolated cabin that had become 'home' for the past three weeks. What had been a vague reconnaissance mission to scout out information on Hao's following in Russia had escalated into something more active when a Patch Official had shown up for the sole purpose of testing the last member of the group who had yet to gain entry into the Shaman Tournament itself.

The orange gadget gracing the slender wrist of Meene under the sleeve of her shirt was the cause of this impromptu celebration and the hidden joy of them all was reflected in the satisfied smile she wore as she sat in the largest chair that cabin had to offer; a fluffy throne for the victorious shaman.

"They took their own sweet time in coming to you, Meene," Denbat commented from his sprawled out position by the fire, his head ironically haloed by the light of the flickering flames behind him illuminating the coarse gold of his hair, his neck cocked as his cheek rested in the cusp of his palm. The lack of Meene's Oracle Bell had been a frequent topic of discussion among the close-knit group of people around her who had already gained theirs. Still, the subject of discussion herself had shown nothing, but placid faith that her time to prove herself would come when her Lord decreed it, but others had been more impatient to have their group completed – without an Oracle Bell, Meene could not fight in the tournament and without Meene, the X-laws would have been down a member…and a friend.

Or they would have had to partake of Larch's cooking more often – at least with an extra person on the rota, that trial came around in longer rotations.

"There were complications over in Japan," Meene drawled, tiny shoulders shrugging in a dismissive gesture. "Some kid managed to take out the officiate who was supposed to be coming to evaluate me on his next round. The Patch seemed to take a while to re-organise their system so I suppose there was a delay in sending me the new fellow while they fiddled with their Shaman lists." Her tone may have been as mild as ever, but the way long fingers rested protectively on the straps running along the underside of her forearm was a slight suggestion of pride and relief. Faith was sustainable, but made all the more sweet by a visible sign of that faith having paid off.

The six men settled down into thoughtful silence as they digested the news their only female member had just divulged. The few members who drank sipped appreciatively at a fine red wine Marco had brought across from Italy and uncorked for the occasion, the remainder of the team nursing assorted fruit juices or water – clearly, their tastes were as varied as the company they kept.

"A council member was killed by a mere child?" The soft-spoken question came from the ever-quiet Cebin, his voice sibilant and ethereal from behind the frozen expression of his form-fitting mask. His own drink had thoughtfully been equipped with a straw so that he could sip his drink easily without awkward fumbling or the baring of his mutilated face. Though why it had to be a clear pink and a curling spiral was a matter he would have to question Meene about later. Perhaps she was taking this 'only female X-law' role a bit too far, but, knowing her, it was probably some sort of pointed and obscure joke on her part.

"Strong kid." This came from Venstar, a brooding figure of a man taking up a rather large portion of the well-padded couch facing the fire. "The council judges aren't usually considered to be pushovers."

An amused and familiar smirk flitted across Porf's angular features as he waved a lazy hand at the large black man on the sofa from his own position at the table, joined by both Marco and Larch. Never one to pass up an opportunity for a good-natured dig, the larger yet stoic man was a prime target for the American's odd brand of humour. "You saying you had trouble with your own Patch fight, Venstar?"

In answer to the blatant tease, the large man merely smiled slightly. The curling of his lips might have been considered arrogant on anyone, but Venstar was far too steady natured a man to even consider such a sinful feeling. "No."

The inhabitants of the room chuckled appreciatively at the assuredness of the answer, the quiet ripple of amusement consistent throughout the room. Strength was not something that was lacking in this room, not in any one of them present here. These were some of the most powerful Shaman in the world, highly trained and effective as a team with a single driving force behind them. They were united and dedicated and committed, but it was a rare chance that they simply got to relax as the comrades they were and the friends they had come to be. Sprawled around a warm room, their work done for the day and free from any foreseeable missions for the next week, the tired, but satisfied X-laws were content to rest and joke as few knew they actually did.

Most people assumed that, with the tenacity they as a group possessed, even in their free time they would remain the hard eyed bunch of hunters people perceived them as, but the warm atmosphere in the comfortable room was testimony against that. This was no heartless group of dogs, just souls who drew solace from each other knowing they shared the same pain and suffering.

The pain Hao had caused them all was the binding agent within the diverse team.

There were Larch and Venstar; two giants among men with equally sized hearts though the dark skinned man was the more stoic of the two, the more gentle of the two. Larch was more forthcoming and less inclined towards clinical observation than his companion, but both were fairly mild.

Denbat, not so.

The man, with the muted gold hair and the permanent stubble prickling his jaw, was vivacious – vibrant you might even say. Lively and animated, it was Denbat who was often found to be cracking some joke or finding little ways to make the day brighter….as long as they didn't interfere with duty of course. Despite being something of a prankster out of hours, the man was fiercely dedicated to the campaign against the inhumane being who murdered his sister, as were they all.

Out of them all, Cebin was perhaps the most visibly marked from his encounter with the 'devil incarnate.' Mutilated, scorched by hellfire, the man had retreated behind the slightly sinister looking mask that covered the condemning scars, but there was still plenty of light in the man. Cebin was a gentle man, someone who was always generous, even to a fault, contrary to his intimidating exterior.

While Cebin merely looked sinister, Porf managed to act it as well. The American shaman had a wild look around his eyes that only lessened when he was in the company of his teammates, but out of all of them, he was perhaps the one with the sharpest tongue of course.

Except for Marco in one of his moods. Their sub commander was certainly brilliant, but there were times when his beliefs were so strong they spilled out into his interactions with his fellow X-laws. Still, his friends just laughed and blamed the tongue-lashing they had just received on Marco's Italian temperament and all would be well. Out of all of them, it was Meene who most often came into conflict with their highly strong companion, but strangely enough, it was perhaps those two who spent the most time together.

The dun-haired woman was certainly an obscure character, though her sex might have been something to do with that. Mild, but certainly never meek, she was often found quietly watching her team-members with the ghost of a smile on her face. She was certainly intuitive and was adept at tuning herself into her friend's various personas. Part of her knack for flustering Marco was her habit of speaking aloud on his thoughts and interpreting them correctly.

Meene knows best, the X-laws said, Meene knows best.

"So now we're all ready." Glasses glinting in the flickering light, Marco looked up from the glass of blood red liquid held elegantly between long fingers – whatever the situation, the Italian's manners stubbornly remained – eyes scanning the assembled members of their proud team. Each had their own dark tales to tell, but all had been brought together by the shining light that was their leader. The Iron Maiden herself was resting now, quietly contemplating and regenerating within her metal capsule while her faithful followers gathered in the living room. Jeanne had been the first to gain her Oracle Bell; Meene had been the last.

"The X-laws are complete then," Meene quipped and something in the slightly sarcastic tone of her voice earned her a minute glare from Marco, something she responded to with a bland smile before turning back to the group as a whole. While relatively unscathed from her preliminary fight, the woman still bore marks of her passage into the tournament – a gash tracing the fine line of her cheekbone, a neat bandage around a twisted ankle and a vaguely weary look in her olive eyes. Battle had been testing, but easy enough considering her capacity.

Meene was far from under-qualified for the Shaman Tournament.

"Any other snippets of information the judge was gracious enough to give you?" Larch asked, smoothly shifting the conversation away from a possible dispute between Marco and Meene. The blonde woman gave an indeterminate shrug, a teasing light entering her eyes as she unconcernedly leaned back in the padded array of cushions Cebin had so thoughtfully laid out for her earlier.

"Since when do the judges give anything away?" Another…frustrating habit of Meene's, answering a question with a question and the diminutive female adeptly ducked a peanut tossed at her by Denbat. The nut itself landed by Venstar who, waste-conscious as ever, calmly picked it up and ate it, earning a few snickers from various parts of the room. The atmosphere within the room was light, buoyant - a far cry from the harsh temperatures and freezing conditions outside and, within this circle of friends, Meene relented; her gaze softening as it only did for the people she held dear. "The Official, Zinc, decided that I was worth talking to for a while," she commented dryly, sipping thoughtfully at the glass of water she held in one hand. "There are a few who seem to be shining. The German's one, this Chinese boy is another." The X-laws were well informed – their sources stretched globally and their records of Faust were clinically documented. The necromancer had a reputation, but was certainly not one of the ones they would extend the hand of friendship to – Faust defiled the dead and that was a sin.

Sins were not acceptable.

"The boy – is he the one who killed his Patch judge?" Marco asked, eyes once more obscured by the reflective half-moons of his glasses, making his expression impossible to interpret.

A single eyebrow of Meene's arched imperceptibly and the woman tilted her chin towards their Italian sub-commander. "Why? Are you going to cross him off your list of potential allies?" Perhaps it was the warmth soothing her sore muscles, but Meene's normal tactful state slipped somewhat, the comment coming across as perhaps more defiant than she had meant it to be.

Silence came as a frozen hush, all eyes turning to see how Marco would take this. The celebratory atmosphere was fading rapidly now, tempered into stony confrontation by the simple question that perhaps summed up the differences in opinions between two of the most stubborn members of the team.

Those glasses glinted ominously and Marco's wineglass was set down with a dangerous clink as the tall man stood, his customary aura of power and dedication surrounding him once more as he looked towards Meene. Compared to him, she suddenly seemed small, but no less centred as she watched him with blank eyes, perhaps daring him to act on the tension that so often lingered between them.

"We leave early in the morning. I suggest you all get your rest." It was the perilous calm in his voice that perhaps urged most of the X-laws to stand, following in a trickle of people as their hot-tempered sub-commander stalked out of the room until only Meene and Venstar were left. The sandy haired woman had not moved, a poised hand still keeping her water glass as jade eyes examined the door Marco had just slammed behind him and behind which he was no doubtedly smashing something.

From his position on the couch, Venstar sighed, looking at his female companion reproachfully. "Why did you have to needle him like that, Meene? You were getting along so nicely…"

"He'd get complacent if someone didn't question him from time to time," the young woman said calmly, her voice as even as ever though her eyes never left the door.

Her male teammate snorted, his disbelieving look apparent on his stubble bedecked features. "From time to time? You're always digging at him – what is it you're trying to prove?"

"That we're not always right." It was the sad look that Meene sent him that finally allowed Venstar to see the degree to which his friend was hurting. With her calm exterior, it was easy to think of Meene as a stable element, a solid rock within their group on which they all could lean, but what they had to remember was that she was just as broken as they all were. She had been hurt just as badly, a lost soul taking a piece of her spirit with her to the realms of death after Hao had been through with him.

Still, Meene was different to them all. Venstar would puzzle over this answer for many days to come. The days would turn into weeks, the weeks stretching into a few months until the final encounter he would ever have with Hao. It would only be then, as he would see Meene seemingly cut down before him that he would realise just what she meant by it all. Her relationship with the, at present, unknown Lyserg, would be something which would gradually etch away at his confusion and bemusement. The way that Meene would stand up for him in the face of the wrath of Marco, the way that she had always been the one to question their sub-commander's orders… It would be in those last few moments that it would all make sense.

Meene was no less dedicated than the rest of them, but her allegiance was slightly different – no other X-law would question Marco like she did because they all trusted him implicitly to see the bigger picture and guide them all towards the final goal! But what Meene saw was the even bigger picture, the one that encompassed their goals and expanded to the goals of others which was a very un X-law like thing. What Meene had slowly come to see was that while the X-laws were ultimately right in wanting to rid the world of Hao…there was still a chance that the way they want about it was vaguely wrong. Not enough to sway her unwavering loyalty, but just enough to make her open to the ideas that they might sometimes lose the plot.

And in the not so distant future, her final words would sum up the greatest pride and the greatest flaw of the X-laws. The X-laws were unchangeable; this gave them strength, but their rigidity restricted them in unfathomable ways.

The X-laws could not adapt and the X-laws could not change.

Venstar, her team leader, would eventually come to know this in the moments before he lost his life, but for now, his confusion on her comment was evident. It was on another subject that the veil was lifted from his eyes this time and it added just another worry to the bundle his brave heart carried.

"So why just him, Meene?" he asked softly, dark eyes bright with a mix of pity and empathy. "What is it that you want him to say?"

The silence between them extended lengthily and it wasn't until the shadows from the rapidly dying fire flickered across her face that Meene finally voiced her quiet reply. "I don't want him to say anything – Marco…he needs his focus. If I distract him, _really _distract him, he'll lose that tenacity of his and we need that to succeed. Marco's given himself completely over to our Iron Maiden and I can't compete with the hope for a world without Hao…I wouldn't want to."

Meene did needle Marco, she did butt gently at his authority, but her actions were designed to strengthen the man, to hone the dedicated spirit within his chest. And if she, for brief moments, could bask in his attention in her own subdued way, then all the better, but there was nothing you could say to make her press the subject further. Their one and only goal was to obliterate the epitome of evil from the world and that single thought always came first, whatever her own personal feelings.

Venstar shifted, grasping at stems of words for something comforting to say when he knew that his tiny friend was already lost inside her soul and she had been for a while. "Meene…in a different world…in a different time..-"

"I know," she cut in, gryphon-green eyes closed now, her weary body going lax within the suddenly far too large looking chair. It made her seem tiny, doll-like within its grasp and it was a rare look at the frailty she always sought to hide. "I know…but the mission comes first." A tired hand, accentuated with the heavy weight of the Oracle Bell and its accompanying responsibility, rose to grip the rosary around her neck in a final prayer for solace.

"The mission comes first," her large friend repeated quietly and the two spoke no more, sitting there in silence within the warm glow of a muted bank of dying embers.

From the door, silver hair shifted, curtaining a tiny body bearing the languidly healing marks of a self-imposed torture. Crimson eyes – red for love and red for blood – watched her two faithful followers, dry-eyed, but weeping at heart. For her, for their dream, her X-laws had given up so much. Family, lives, _love…_

"My Angels," the Iron Maiden whispered, her own prayer beads a studded black snake against the translucent pearl of her skin. "May God grant you the peace in heaven that you could not find in life…"

In a quiet cabin in Russia, the snow had slowed to a gentle spiral of perfect flakes that fell without sound and the first delicate rays of sun crept weakly over the low horizon to touch the cabin that held so many brave souls.

And so the sun shone on the fully qualified X-laws for the first time and it was a light without life, but bright in its grim determination to beat back the clutches of winter or die trying.

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Review Replies:

PurPLeDoUGHnuts: Heh – I'm so flattered! You almost made me tear up for a moment. I adore Horo and Tamao together and it makes so much sense – he seems so affectionate with her whenever they're seen together…Still – I've never written a Ren/Pirika before, but I'll see what I can do!

Kaeru Soyokaze: Horo/Tamao-shippers unite! **Giggle** Funfunfunfun…

Angelady: I've never written Yoh/Anna before, but I'm certainly willing to have a go – I've got a few plot bunnies I could tweak into working for them.

BBShadowCat: I hope this was soon enough – this one took a bit more work than the last one!


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